TILLY LALLY:
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In the moon,
there is a certain island on a mighty continent which seems to have
some affinity to England and, what is more extraordinary, the people
are so much alike and their language so much the same, that you
would think you were among your friends.
In this island dwell three philosophers: SUCTION the Epicurean,
QUID the Cynic, and SIPSOP the Pythagorean. I call them by the names
of these sects, though the sects are not ever mentioned there, being
quite out of date; however, the things still remain, and the vanities
are the same.
The three philosophers sit together thinking of nothing. ETRUSCAN
COLUMN, the Antiquarian comes in and after an abundance of enquiries
to no purpose, sits down and describes something that nobody listens
to. And so they were employed, as usual, when Ms. GIMBLET comes
in, tipsy. The corners of her mouth seem, I don't know how, but
very odd, as if she hopes you have not an ill opinion of her (to
be sure, we are all poor creatures . . .). Well, she sits down and
seems to listen with great attention while COLUMN seems to be talking
of. . . what? [listens] virtuous cats. But it is not so; she is
thinking of the shape of her eyes and mouth, and he is thinking
of his eternal fame. And the three philosophers, well, by this time
they are trying to conceal their laughter, not at them, but at their
own fantasies.
Such is the situation of this improving company when in a great
hurry enters INFLAMMABLE GASS, the Wind-finder. Everyone seems to
rise and salute each other. COLUMN and GASS fix their eyes on each
other; their tongues go into question and answer, question and answer,
question and answer, but their thoughts were otherwise employed.
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